


Gratitude

by azurefishnets



Category: Ghost Trick: Phantom Detective
Genre: A white coat ruined, Egregious misuse of ketchup, M/M, The memory of gore, new timeline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 09:15:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17139071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azurefishnets/pseuds/azurefishnets
Summary: Jowd knowing how much Cabanela did for him and remembering him broken and bloodied is A Lot. He's a little into it. Cabs not so much. (Prompt summary)





	Gratitude

**Author's Note:**

  * For [laughingpineapple](https://archiveofourown.org/users/laughingpineapple/gifts).



Jowd ate with steady determination, enjoying the smell and taste of his chicken with the kind of soul-deep enjoyment he didn’t remember ever giving to food before. Everything was new and fresh, in this revived time. Every experience he’d overlooked the first time was as good as new, better than new, almost to the point of oversaturation to his numbed psyche. He’d spent so long in the dark that he honestly wasn’t sure he’d ever completely acclimate to the light again, but the salt and heat of a roast chicken was a good start, even if the stuff made in the police department’s mess hall was distinctly inferior to that of the Chicken Kitchen’s. He had enough ketchup to provide the cure for that, though, in a bottle next to his plate.

Cabanela slid into the seat opposite, thunking his tray down with slightly unnecessary force. “I’ve been lookin’ allll over for you, man. Where’ve you been today?”

Jowd looked up, eyes narrowing at Cabanela’s annoyed tone. “A little thing called the job, Cabanela. Maybe you’ve heard of it?”

“Oh, the jooob, is it? Whyyy, yes, Jowd, I might have heard that we’re suppooosed to be working on the McLarens case together. You know, poliiiice work? Partnership? Nothing like it, or so they tell me.”

Jowd slid a pen across the table. “That one’s solved. I’ll let Sissel tell you about that. I’m trying to eat.”

Silence. Jowd cocked an eyebrow at the man across the table, who picked up the pen and slid it into some unknown pocket inside his spotless white coat with an unintelligible mutter.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” Jowd held a hand to his ear.

“I said, ‘Thanks, Sissel,’” said Cabanela, digging a fork into his casserole.

_“No, he didn’t.”_ Sissel’s voice echoed in both their heads. _“But, detectives, I’ll meet you later. I hate watching people eat when I can’t have any.”_ Both men’s eyes followed the little trail of ghostly causality as he made his way out of the mess hall and back toward his body, then turned back to their food.

Jowd eyed Cabanela. It was hard not to want to push him a little, just to see if it would change anything, make him leave. Their relationship was different now than it had been before the reset, and Jowd knew Cabanela, despite an attempt to explain when another case had gone bad and Sissel had had to step in to revive him, didn’t really understand the depths of Jowd’s guilt or the full extent of what Sissel had done for them all.

Jowd had tried to keep it secret at first, but Alma and Cabanela knew him too well. He’d thought five years in a cell and various assorted deaths would have made it easier to keep his council, but his wife and his partner still had their ways of worming information out of him. At least he’d managed to keep some things quiet. Cabanela didn’t need to know about those desperate, brutal moments when he thought he’d truly lost everything.

He’d been silent too long. Cabanela’s hands were tightening around his plastic utensils as he clearly fought to get his temper under control. When he spoke, his voice was artificially light. “There a reeeason you’re pushin’ my buttons today, baby?”

“I don’t think I’ve actually pushed any yet,” said Jowd, bringing a fork full of chicken and ketchup to his mouth.

“Oh, one or two. One orrrr two.” Cabanela put down his fork and gazed fondly at him, heedless of the crowd in the mess hall. “C’mon, talk to me, baby. What’s eatin’ you?”

“I’m the one that’s eating,” said Jowd, aiming for the last few bites. “And then I’ve got more of that vaunted police work you tell me we should be doing.”

“Hey.” Cabanela’s voice held a note of warning as he reached out a hand to stop Jowd’s hand with its fork mid-bite. “What aren’t you telling—”

Jowd’s hand spasmed as Cabanela’s came to rest over it. He dropped his fork, which bounced and sprayed tiny droplets of ketchup onto Cabanela’s wrist. Jowd stared at the infinitesimal amount of scarlet and jerked his hand out of Cabanela’s grasp, knocking the ketchup bottle over and squirting a much larger gout of ketchup onto Cabanela’s coat.

Cabanela reeled backward, hands automatically coming up to peel the coat away and try to keep the mess from getting worse. The noise in the police hall seemed to drop to a dim murmur, then nothing as Jowd stared at the crimson stain, eyes wide and dark. The sweetly acidic smell of the ketchup seemed tinged with something darker, bitter. Metallic.

“Aw, maaan, this is going to be—” Cabanela’s protest were stopped when Jowd grabbed his wrist in a hard grip.

“Come with me.” Jowd’s voice had dropped, his tone rough. He pulled Cabanela, who didn’t resist, toward his office, but veered off before they reached it. There was a storage room nearer which wouldn’t have any prying eyes. Jowd slammed open the door and bundled Cabanela in, closing the door behind him and locking it.

“Jowd, what—” Jowd didn’t let him finish as he licked the ketchup that had been on Cabanela's wrist and was now smeared on his fingers off, then stopped Cabanela’s question with a hard kiss, tugging the coat off and starting to ball it up so he could throw it into a corner.

Cabanela melted into him for a second, warm and pliant, but Jowd could tell when his detective’s instincts kicked in. Cabanela planted his hands on Jowd’s chest and pushed him back, not hard, but with purpose.

“Hey, baby, not that I’m complaaaining, ‘zactly, but what’s goin’ on here?” He retrieved his coat, un-balling it and laying it out carefully so the ketchup wouldn’t spread. He frowned at Jowd. “You’ll be paaaaying the dry-cleaning bill for this one, baby.”

Jowd looked down at the white coat, gleaming in the dim yellow light of the storage room’s dusty bulb. The ketchup spray went over the chest and Jowd remembered another day when crimson stains had covered Cabanela’s coat but Cabanela hadn’t been in any shape to protest.

He put an arm over Cabanela’s shoulder and drew him in. Cabanela didn’t protest, but didn’t melt into him as he had before, no doubt realizing something was off. Jowd brought him into his chest in a full-armed hug anyway, burying his head in Cabanela’s neck. He didn’t smell of ketchup or blood, just soap, a hint of some masculine cologne, and some scent that was unique to him. Slowly, Cabanela’s arms came around him.

When Jowd spoke, it was muffled, but it rumbled into Cabanela’s ear. “Sorry.” He wasn’t. Cabanela and he both knew it. He turned his head, beard scratching Cabanela’s throat a little, and pressed his lips against Cabanela’s pulse, warm and pounding and real and alive.

“Suuuure you are,” Cabanela spoke without rancor. “Jowd, baby, what’s goin’ on?”

Jowd shook his head. He didn’t want to explain it. Didn’t want to destroy this moment by remembering in grotesque detail the things that had happened. Wouldn’t happen now, but he remembered anyway. Cabanela, fighting for him, dying for him. His eyes prickled as a rush of gratitude for the new reality made his whole body tremble. Cabanela’s arms tightened around him, and in this moment Jowd was glad to be alive, happy to accept any amount of emotion if it let him escape the numb black for a little longer.

“Kamila’s staying the night with Amelie tonight,” he said. “Come and spend the evening with Alma and me.”

“Any time, baby, you knoooow that, but—” Cabanela sighed. “No point pushin’ this now, I suppose. I know thaaaat look.” He picked up his abused coat. “I’ll just drop this off at the cleaner’s ooon my way. Pick up some wine. Maybe just a niiice white, since I apparently can’t trust you with red.”

He turned to the door. “Is it the fact that it’s the anniversary today? Three years, is it?” He didn’t look back at Jowd as he reached for the doorknob. “For the record, you don’t neeeed ketchup to get my clothes off, baby. In fact, I’d prefer you didn’t.”

Jowd shrugged. “I’ll consider it a bonus.”

As the door clicked behind Cabanela, Jowd was left in the light of the dusty bulb, staring at the slight remnants of ketchup left on the floor that had dripped from the coat. Using a foot, he scuffed them away and left the storage room, turning off the light and locking the door behind him.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Yule, laughingpineapple! I look forward to many more writing challenges with you.


End file.
